


Summer Goes

by Barkour



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (2010)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer goes, but Astrid stays. That must stand for something. (Or: Hiccup and Astrid make out and discuss feelings in a meadow.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Goes

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe a year-ish before HTTYD2? (She says, when that movie hasn't even come out yet so I have no real idea.)

Summer swept over Berk for that one sweet month of warmth at the heart of the year; summer, that brief respite set between the chill of spring and the bite of autumn. The earth was very nearly soft on Hiccup’s back when Astrid pushed him down and straddled his waist. The scent of crushed grass swelled. Some small insect hummed near his ear, and farther off, in the trees, Toothless warbled.

“Oh, no,” said Hiccup. He pressed his hands to his face. “I seem to have been caught by the dreaded Viking queen. Whatever am I to do?”

Astrid set her fists on her hips and tossed her heavy braid back over her shoulder. Her chest puffed out. A lean smile played at the corner of her eye.

“You, shut up,” she commanded. “I am the dreaded Viking queen—”

He wound his finger in the air. “Yes, we’ve established that, so let’s move on—”

“And I will not be denied by a weak, puny excuse of a man like you,” Astrid said loudly. For good measure she ground her backside into his hip, but as threats went, he’d suffered worse.

“Ouch,” he said. “Wow. The dreaded Viking queen does not pull her punches.”

She held her fist up between them, her knuckles firm and strong. “If it’s punches the prisoner wants—”

He covered her fist with his hand, placating. “No, no, I think this is about what _you_ want. Not me. I’m just a poor, lonely guy. Too scrawny even to defend himself.”

Astrid gave him a look, her eyelids half-down and her brow cocked. Hiccup’s scrawny days were long behind him. Sure, he was never going to be beefy like Snotlout or even muscled like Tuffnut or Ruffnut, but he’d finally achieved some sort of leanness, almost on par with Astrid, though he hadn’t really needed to pretend to lose the fight when she flipped him over her shoulder and to the earth a moment ago. His elbow still smarted where she’d lightly yanked it.

“Well, the dreaded Viking queen can be merciful,” Astrid allowed, “when she’s been given the right incentive.” She fluttered her fingers at him, _go on_.

She was warm and heavy on top of him, the swell of her arse so neatly fitted to his hips. With her knees buried in the grass to either side of him and her chin tipped up, and the forest tall and dark at her back, she looked both regal and wild. A summer breeze, warm off the ocean, taunted. Astrid blinked languorously at him; she waited, perched on top of him.

Toothless called, questioningly, and Hiccup shouted, “Don’t worry, buddy. Me and Astrid are just playing. You keep exploring.” Then Stormfly chattered and Toothless’ attention was diverted away from the small clearing where Astrid bore Hiccup down.

“So what are you going to do for me?” Astrid asked. Her fist was still propped on her hip, but she’d set her other hand down on his chest, her fingertips light across his breast. The sun gleamed in her hair, throwing a white-gold halo around her wide, round face. When she smiled like that, smug and sleek, her cheeks puffed out and her eyebrows arched and she looked like nothing so much as a very pleased owl.

“Well,” said Hiccup, worrying his upper lip between his teeth, “uh, I was thinking maybe, you know, some lip service. To the queen.” He offered up as dashing as smile as he could manage.

She, too, pretended to think, pursing her lips and closing an eye as she looked to the sky. The grass scratched Hiccup’s neck. He set his hand on her thigh, in supplication, fingers angled straight and his thumb curving around. Her smile flickered.

“Hm,” she said, “hmm, hmmmm. Well, killing you would be too easy—”

“Oh, thank you.”

“And you don’t have any gold.” She sighed. “I guess your lips will just have to do. But don’t you even think of trying anything funny.”

He widened his eyes innocently. “Why would I try something funny? Everyone knows the dreaded Viking queen doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

“She doesn’t have a sense of fair play either,” Astrid said. “In fact, I hear she’s kind of ruthless. She’s never spared a prisoner of war. Even if he is cute.”

“She might be ruthless, but I’ve got a secret weapon. It’s true!” he protested when Astrid squinted at him. “A powerful, very secret weapon, too dangerous to use under normal circumstances, and these are definitely not normal circumstances.”

She folded her arms across her chest and tipped her head to the side. Her braid swung out. “And what is this very secret, secret weapon?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mock-humbly, he pressed his fingertips to his chest and lowered his eyes. “The gods have endowed me with a truly great gift. Something they only rarely see fit to give to any person, but they saw fit to give it to me.”

Her eyebrows were inching higher and higher as he spoke, and she had to bite her lower lip to keep the laugh down. Really getting Astrid to laugh was a heck of a challenge; at best, she usually just smirked or wrinkled her nose. He pushed the advantage:

“I am of course referring to my tongue,” he said.

She swallowed, trying to force the humor out. Roughly, straining not to laugh, she said, “As the dreaded Viking queen, I’ll be the judge of that.”

“And if my offering pleases you—”

“Oh, offering,” said Astrid, “I like that.”

“Then will you be so kind as to set me free?”

“Why don’t you try to impress me first?” she countered.

“You asked for it, my lady,” Hiccup said, and he caught her arms in his hands, his fingers around her biceps. 

Astrid was laughing, her head tipped back and her braid pooling in the grass and her throat flashing. Her legs came up, cradling his hips, and then he slid down her, his hand at her belly. A cricket sang somewhere in the thick summer grass, and far away, so far away, a bird replied with its own high song. Astrid wound her fingers in his hair.

“You should probably get started,” said Astrid, “before I change my mind and have you shipped out to sea.”

“Once I get started, you’ll never want to ship me out anywhere,” he promised. He got her skirt pulled down—she lifted her hips to make it easier on him—and Astrid, teasing, dug her toe into his side. The spikes on her skirt were somewhat dull, but he didn’t particularly care to test them out, so he pulled her skirt entirely off and then dropped it in the grass beside her.

“Hey,” Astrid said, mid-stretch, “be careful with that.”

Hiccup glanced up from working at the stays holding her short trousers up. “Be careful with that? The skirt?” He pulled the knot apart, indignant. “What about me? What about my hands—what if I stabbed myself on one of your little spike thingies?”

Astrid looked away, with, he thought, commendable regality given she was the one with her back in the grass now; but then, he’d long since learned that Astrid always found a way to come out on top no matter what. She flapped her hand breezily.

“The dreaded Viking queen doesn’t care about your hands,” she said. “And anyway, why would you want to touch me there?”

“What—oh,” he said, peeling the short trousers open, “oh, trying to turn this on me, trying to make it like if I stuck my finger on a spike and it got infected it’s my fault—”

“Mm,” said Astrid, nodding, “yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Meanwhile, of course, you’re the one with the armory on her skirt.”

“I like it,” she said. “It keeps weird people from wandering around thinking they can just start touching me.” She stuck him with her toe again.

“Do a lot of people try to touch you there?” he asked. He got his arm under her right thigh and hoisted her knee to his shoulder. “Is this something that happens a lot?”

“It’s mostly just this one guy,” she said. “But I can handle him on. He’s kind of puny. He’s probably almost as skinny as you are.”

“Oh, well, then he _must_ be puny,” said Hiccup, “on account of I’m so tiny and frail. I’m the runt of the litter, you know. I don’t know why someone as fearsome and powerful as you—”

“The dreaded Viking queen,” she filled in for him, and yes, she was biting at her lip again.

He pressed his free hand to his neck, looking up at her from between her legs. “What could someone as delicate and weak as me have to offer one of such incredible stature as yourself?”

She stretched her arms out above her head, her chest swelling, and when she’d finished with that she wiggled, settling in. Her left leg she went and slung over his shoulder on her own, knocking a grunt free from his chest.

“I’m still waiting on that tongue,” she said. “You’d better hurry up, or I’m going to take it from you.”

“Truly, you are a brute,” Hiccup tsked, and Astrid—finally, Astrid laughed.

He was laughing too when he kissed the inside of her thigh. Her ankles twisted; she dug her toes into his back. She’d a mole high on her left thigh, near the crease where her leg folded into her hip, and he’d found it to be a dear friend of his. He pressed a little kiss to it and then another with more teeth; and he stroked his right hand up and down her leg, lightly on her thigh. Astrid spun a finger in his hair and tugged gently. He pattered soft kisses after his fingers, tracing the route they took first down then up again. 

“I’m going to have a grass rash later,” she said. Her toes worked at his back.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said to the crease at the juncture of her thigh and her hip, “my back’s going to be killing me.”

“That _does_ make me feel better,” she said, tugging at his hair again.

“Well, so long as you’re happy. What more could I possibly ask for?” Hiccup curled the first finger of his left hand in the thick thatch of light brown curls at her groin. He left a long, lingering kiss in the crease, his tongue brushing it for just a breath. Her skin was hot, hot and salty on his tongue. Summer clung to them all. 

“After all you’re the queen, and I’m just your humble captive, with nothing to give you.”

“Nothing except your tongue, which,” she added, “you’re still not giving me.”

“Oh, well, excuse me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to deprive you.”

“And you’re still talking!” Astrid cried, so he took his cue and began a campaign of enormously sloppy kisses, left on either of her thighs without tactical consideration. This was a blitz game, no room for subtlety or careful aim. Her hands clasped around his head and she was laughing again, very loudly and bare of grace, her legs arching off his back.

“Hold still,” he scolded, “I’m trying to pay tribute here—”

“What you’re trying to do is annoy me!”

“Is it working?”

She ground her heel hard along his back. “Why don’t you keep trying and find out?”

“Baiting the dragon, huh,” he said. “I can do that. I’m _great_ at doing that.”

Reaching over her leg—not the most graceful thing he’d ever done, sure, but he did it and in the end, that was what counted—Hiccup popped two of his fingers into his mouth, slicked them up, and then slipped his hand under her leg and up to her sex. She wasn’t very damp yet, her folds still dry, but he’d change that soon enough; they both would. He slid his fingers between the folds, parting them, and bit her thigh at the crease.

“There you go,” said Astrid.

Her hair tickled his hand, the side of his nose too. He nipped a meandering trail along her thigh, pausing to flick her little mole with his tongue. Steadily he stroked her, one finger slipping up to trace the shape of her clit and the other slinking low to tease her opening, and all this to the accompaniment of her fingers twining in his hair. Her toes curled against his back and then relaxed. The high hum of insects rose in waves around them, and wonder of wonders, his back almost felt hot under the sun.

Normally Astrid would have just about yanked the hair out of his scalp forcing him on, even this early. She was slicking under his hand; his fingers slid more readily. Soon, he thought, she’d want him to crook his finger inside her, but Astrid only sighed, a heavy, warm thing from deep in her chest, and brushed his ear with her thumb. She liked it faster than Hiccup liked to give it, and she’d few compunctions about telling him as much with either her words or her hands at the back of his head; and while he’d prefer to take his time, he didn’t mind going with what Astrid wanted. Now, though, she seemed content to card her fingers through his hair, content to turn her face up to the sun and curl her toes at his back, basking in the summer heat like the dragon he’d called her earlier.

He turned to kiss her opposing thigh, and between one light, wet kiss and another, he said, “Are you okay with this?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Hiccup looked up, his teeth pressed to her leg, and he saw her as she was then, her eyes closed and a smile as bright on her mouth as the sun so high and so newly hot above them. She’d grass in her hair, and an old bruise just above her elbow, testament to the week’s work; the bruise had faded to a sickly sort of green. Her toes bunched again and she stretched just a little, her hips shivering under him. Astrid rolled her shoulders, the left and then the right; and she sighed again, satisfaction flitting through her.

“Hm,” he said, “okay, well, how about this?”

He leaned forward and ran his flat tongue up between her folds. Astrid startled—her hands fisted painfully in his hair—and he got a half-gasp out of her that he felt pretty much counted as a laugh. He did it again, with the added bonus of a flick of the tip over her nub, his finger pressing up against it from below.

“Okay,” she said, with a sort of breathiness he only rarely heard, “that’s a good move.”

“Oh, yeah? You think I should try that one out again?” He licked her clit again, very delicately. “You liked that?”

“Don’t push it,” Astrid said.

“So, that’s a yes,” he said. “That’s a very strong yes. I should definitely keep pushing it—”

“Hiccup,” Astrid said, “shut up.”

“That’s kind of rude,” he muttered, and—mock-vengeful—he pursed his lips around that nub and sucked it between his teeth.

Astrid swore and kicked his back, hard enough that he had to let go for how loudly he was laughing.

“Not funny, Hiccup!” she yelled.

“It was a _little_ funny,” he said. “Come on, you have to admit—”

“I’m not admitting anything—”

“What?” he protested. He wiggled the tip of his finger against her cunt, dragging the wetness out. “All I did was—”

“I know what you did,” Astrid said. “I was there.”

“Well, you liked it—”

“Until you started laughing,” she said, pulling on his hair.

“Look—” He pointed at her with his slicked finger. “You’re smiling right now—”

She fought to force her lips straight, but, he was very pleased to note, she wasn’t very successful at it. Still, she tried to argue with the facts: “I am _not_ , I’m not smiling—”

“Yes, you are, you’re smiling,” he said, “right now, you’re smiling, and you’re smiling because you like it—”

“You’re pushing it,” she warned, “I told you not to push it and you’re pushing it—”

“No,” Hiccup said, “ _now_ I’m pushing it,” and, holding her gaze even as he lowered his head, he curled his tongue around her clit and put the pressure on. She swore again and then—ha! He’d known he could do it—she slapped a hand to her eyes as she giggled.

“See?” He sucked on her clitoris again, pulling it in and then letting go. “You like it when I push it.”

“I’ll push you off a cliff,” she threatened him, which as threats went wasn’t very scary when she was still giggling like that above him. She peeked through her fingers at him and cracked up again.

“Are you laughing at me?” he demanded. “Laughing at _me_ , Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third—”

She started kicking him again, her heels bouncing off his shoulder blades. “Stop! Stop, what’s wrong with you—”

“The powerful, mighty Viking,” he went on, “beloved by women the world over—”

“You better not be!” Astrid said. “Or I really will push you off a cliff.”

“Okay, maybe not the whole _world_ over,” Hiccup said. “Maybe just here in Berk.”

Astrid glared at him, and that meant—since she had to look down her self at him—her eyes crossed just slightly. His heart squeezed. For a moment, he thought he might have entirely forgotten how to breathe.

“The dreaded Viking queen does not share her prizes,” Astrid said.

“I’m a prize now?” he asked. He wished his voice hadn’t cracked on the end of that, but Astrid’s glare turned fond at the hint of a squeak. He pushed on: “All right! That’s a big step up for me from prisoner of war to—”

A shadow fell over them. He’d a fraction of a heartbeat to think to shout for Toothless, then Astrid said, “Stormfly, no!”

The Nadder stepped over Hiccup, who instinctively pressed himself as flat to the ground as possible. Stormfly had a nasty habit of not looking where she was going or even particularly caring about what was in her way when she _did_ bother to look. Rounding on them, Stormfly chuttered at Astrid and cocked her head to one side, blinking at Hiccup.

“It’s fine,” Astrid said to Stormfly, “we’re just playing. Go explore—”

Stormfly interrupted her, nattering away as she stalked up the grass and then down again to crouch beside Astrid. Astrid’s nose wrinkled. She was, it became clear to Hiccup, struggling yet again not to laugh. Summer, he thought, was truly a wonderful thing.

“No, I’m not going to play with you,” Astrid said. “So go— _go_.” She made shooing gestures, flapping Stormfly away with her hands.

Stormfly grumbled about it and flapped her own wings in reply, mirroring Astrid’s posturing, but after a brief lecture, she did at last sulk back towards the trees, where Toothless was waiting for her. Toothless, catching Hiccup’s eye, grinned, and then barked at Stormfly.

“What are you laughing at?” Astrid asked Hiccup.

He widened his eyes. “Who’s laughing? I’m not laughing—”

“You’re laughing, and if you think I’m going to let you get away with that—”

“Must be the summer air,” he said with a shrug, bending.

“Don’t think I’m going to forget—oh,” she sighed, “that’s good. Keep doing that.”

“As my lady commands,” he murmured. He licked at her, long, wide strokes that had her squirming under his hands. The first of his fingers slid easily into her, and where before she’d crossed her legs at the ankles, now she crossed them at her calves, more tightly around him. His shoulders braced her.

She reached for him then, her palm coarse against his ear. Her fingernails pushed back along his scalp, her thumbnail scraping over his temple; the skin low on his back prickled. As ever Astrid tasted sharp—slightly acidic—the tang in her smell as well as the flavor on his tongue. He pushed his finger deeper and hoisted her right knee higher on his shoulder. Her teeth dug into her lip and he turned that finger, fiddling the tip. Right about— _now_ , her nose would wrinkle.

“Come _on_ ,” she muttered.

“Come on what?” 

“Hurry up,” Astrid snapped, her grip on his hair so tight he felt each shiver of her hand all the way down in his gut. Oh, yeah, his back was going to kill him later. Probably it was worth this, how her teeth flashed as if she were thinking of flipping him over. He wouldn’t mind it if she did.

He slipped his finger free of her and framed her clit with his first two fingers, one to each side of it, and then—his lips chastely pressed together—he kissed her clit with excruciating primness. Astrid kicked him for that, and he banged his nose on her thigh in the recoil at precisely the right angle to actually hurt. His hand flew to his face, fingers slick against his cheek.

“Ugh!” he said, then: “Augh!” and Astrid sat up, grass tumbling from her hair.

“You broke my nose,” he said, muffled.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Astrid said, but she pried his hand away from his nose to palpate it herself. Her thumb was warm along the bridge of his nose, and her eyelashes, slung down over her eyes, were thick and dark, shadowing the blue of her irises. “It isn’t broken.”

“I’m positive I felt it break,” he argued. She was still testing his nose with her fingers. “Your thighs are like, like iron.”

“Thanks,” she said absently, her eyelashes hanging low. “I’m trying to stay in shape with the festival coming up.”

“Well, it’s working,” said Hiccup. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about maybe trying to get some more exercise—”

Finally she met his eyes. Her brow arched, and her mouth curved very sleekly, like a wild cat, or a dragon perched above a clear pool filled with fish, or just Astrid, looking at Hiccup.

“Sorry,” he blurted, and her other eyebrow went up. Sheepishly he gestured to his face. “I was going to kiss you, but…”

Astrid shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t mind.”

He licked his lip, and the taste of Astrid was still there, sharp and strong, so very much Astrid that all of him seemed to clench at it. The sun, at his back, shone in her face. The turned up end of her nose wrinkled when she smiled.

“I was kind of working,” he said.

She tipped her head to the side; her braid tumbled down her shoulder. “So, finish,” she said, and she pressed her knee to his shoulder. “But you better hurry it up.”

“You could make me hurry.”

“Nah,” she said, turning her face up. “I like this service thing. I get why Ruffnut likes it so much.”

“You talk about this stuff with Ruffnut?” he said, aghast.

Another half shrug. “Why not? You guys talk about sex stuff all the time. Especially Snotlout.” She made a face.

“I don’t talk about sex stuff,” Hiccup said. “Especially with _Snotlout_.”

“Oh,” said Astrid, thinking on this. Then she shrugged, with both shoulders this time, how very generous, and said, “Well, anyway, all Ruffnut says is it’s better when it’s faster, and I said the same thing. So that’s it.”

“I like doing it slow,” he countered. “And I know you like it—you always get that look on your face like you want to punch me—”

“Because I feel like I’m going to pop out of my skin,” she argued. “I _hate_ that—like everything just feels like too much all of a sudden and I’m gonna burst—”

“That’s not good? I love that,” said Hiccup. “That’s the best part, when you feel like—you know, like you’re going to explode.”

“Well, I _don’t_ love that,” Astrid declared. She’d given up on the sun and now she was scowling at Hiccup. “I don’t love not being in, in control of what I’m doing. Sometimes I say things—”

“I like the things you say.”

Her ears were red, her face dark. Hiccup was pretty sure he was red, too, but that wouldn’t matter to Astrid. She ripped a handful of grass up and then threw it to the wind, and she watched as the breeze took all of it away. The blush remained. She wouldn’t look at him.

“It’s embarrassing,” she muttered.

Hiccup rolled his tongue against his teeth. Astrid hunched her shoulders and went on scowling. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing; he’d said a lot of wrong things, and Astrid had too, but he never remembered the wrong things she said, just the ones he did, and he kind of suspected the reverse held true for Astrid, that it was the stuff she’d said wrong that stuck with her and not what he’d said. Still.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said softly, at last. Her eyes flickered, but she wasn’t scowling at him, just the grass. He lifted his hand—he hesitated—he set his hand, very lightly, on top of her knee. 

“It’s not embarrassing to me,” he said. “It’s actually kind of nice, the stuff you say.”

Her jaw worked. She looked away again. Astrid’s fingers tightened, tearing at the grass. Her knuckles showed white under her tanned skin.

“I don’t want to say any of it because—” She reddened so deeply he almost made a joke about her actually popping, but Hiccup managed to not open his mouth and cram his foot in it, which was good because she kept going: “Because of what you’re doing. Down there,” she finished in a rush, her jaw going tight; and she wasn’t normally this shy about it at all. If anything Hiccup was the one who was shy: he was the one whose voice cracked when she kissed him and he said her name, the one who dropped everything he was holding when she so much as wiggled her nose at him across a room, the one who laughed right in Astrid’s face the first time she’d stuck her hand down his trousers.

Hiccup swallowed. Her knee was warm under his hand, her thigh tense. He ran his thumb around the shape of the joint. The sweet fragrance of crushed grass was thick in his mouth. Astrid glanced sidelong at him over that unforgiving line of her shoulder, stiff and straight. She hunched it, just so, when he met her look, and then she raised her chin and forced her shoulder down again. His throat ached.

“I, uh,” he said, and he winched his mouth to the side. “I love you.”

Astrid went even redder. He was redder, he bet; definitely his ears were burning. He’d said it before, of course he’d said it before, but— 

Her knee shifted; she got her legs up. Her chin went up higher too, and Astrid glared at him.

“I love you too,” she said.

He swallowed again and tried for a joke: “You don’t have to look so mad about it.”

“I’m not mad—”

“You’ve got that face like you’re mad—” He gestured to her then thought better of it.

“I do not!” Astrid said hotly. “This is just my face. You’re the one who’s looking at me like—”

“I’m not looking at you like I’m mad—”

“No, but you’ve got that—like you’re thinking of being somewhere else,” Astrid said, pushing him hard on the shoulder with her palm.

“That’s just _my_ face,” he said, and Astrid—Astrid who always pushed him for the truth—said, “I know it is!”

He took his hand from her knee. Her toes curled in the grass. Instead of her knee he cupped her shoulder, her shoulder and then—his hand slipping down—the curve of her lean biceps.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Um. To love me.” He reached for her hand with his other hand. Her fingers were rough on his wrist; she held on to him. “And I like it when you tell me that. And it’s okay if you’re not always in control.”

She tightened her grip on him. “I like being in control.”

“I like it too,” he said, smiling.

The corner of her mouth flicked up, just briefly. She shook his hand once, and she reciprocated his hold on her arm, her free hand coming up to clasp his shoulder. She looked at him, as she’d always looked at him, as if she saw Hiccup precisely for who he was. He thought, maybe, he was one of the very few people Astrid let see her as she was. Her gaze was steady, the blue of her eyes paler than the sea and darker than the sky and much dearer than either.

“I do love you,” she said.

He smiled and ducked his head, looking up at her. “Even if I have this face?”

Astrid squeezed his arm. “Because you have that face.” The cant of her brow eased. “And some other things, I guess.” 

“You guess,” he said.

“ _Maybe_ ,” she stressed.

Hiccup said, “Oh, well, that’s really romantic. You’ve totally romanced me, Astrid, good job,” and pursed his lips and made to kiss her. He’d expected her to laugh or at least smile and push him back, her fingers on his nose, but Astrid—her mouth soft—leaned into him. Her arms came up around his shoulders; her lank, coarse bangs brushed his forehead. He held himself up with one hand on her back and the other desperately—barely in time—pushed to the ground so he didn’t fall against her.

“C’mere,” she mumbled. Her tongue was commanding; she licked at his teeth.

He flapped his hand at her back and tried to say, “I’m already here,” but Astrid was kissing him; she was consuming him; she wouldn’t let him go. Her lips were slick. If she minded the taste of herself in his mouth, she didn’t show it. That was kind of an overwhelming thought. His chest was burning. He curled his fingertips into her back.

She traced his hard palate with the tip of her tongue and then drew back just far enough to say again, “Come here.”

“I _am_ here—”

“No,” Astrid said, with enormous patience, “come _here_ ,” and her hands locked at her elbows behind his neck, and she pulled him down to the ground with her. His elbow buckled. All his good intentions of before were wasted: he fell upon her. His false leg banged her calf, his knee driven into the grass left of her thigh.

“Sorry,” he gasped, “sorry—” and Astrid swallowed the rest of his apology with teeth. She left off his neck to push him back onto the grass, to cradle his jaw and hold him there as she took from him what he gave. He molded one hand to the shape of her arse, and he reached to brush the grass from her hair with the other.

“Not that I’m complaining—” He turned his head, chasing her mouth.

She was smiling when she kissed him. “So don’t.”

Pretty good advice, he figured. Hiccup wound his fingers through her braid. Her breath shivered. Astrid straddled him, and her hands fell between them. She pulled at his laces, her nails picking the knot apart.

“We should, uh, probably check on the dragons,” he said, kissing her jaw from chin to the corner at her ear.

“They’re fine,” Astrid said. She caught the corner of his mouth, and he was pulled inexorably, always, to her. Her lips were warm on his ear lobe. “They can handle being alone for a couple more minutes.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup said. “Yeah. You’re right. Definitely.”

Her teeth fixed in his lower lip. He groaned—his heart stuck a moment on his ribs—and then she was parting his trousers and taking his cock in hand.

“Astrid,” he said, and his stupid voice cracked again, _gods_ , it was never going to stop; he’d be squeaking in twenty years, and he hoped she’d still be there in twenty years, he thought maybe she would be, but it would be nice if he could just say her name without sounding like he was choking on it, and—

Astrid touched his cheek. Her fingertips were callused but her hand was gentle. With her pale eyes on him, and her teeth pressing momentarily into her lip, she drew a breath; and then she said again, “I love you.”

He covered her hand on his face with his own. The sun was in her hair and her face, turned down to him, was in shadow. The small of his back still pained him, though that at least was fading. His knee hurt, too. When he swallowed, he could still taste Astrid in his mouth.

“I know,” he said, and Astrid— 

Her eyes crinkled. She didn’t laugh, but she was smiling, and when she kissed him again—when she guided him into her—he thought, that was all right. All he really wanted from Astrid was Astrid. That was more than enough; that was everything, even after summer went away again and winter came back to stay a while.


End file.
